


ancient history

by alderations



Category: The Mechanisms (Band)
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Families of Choice, Gen, Metafiction, Narratomancy, Tragedy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-02
Updated: 2021-01-02
Packaged: 2021-03-10 21:22:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,470
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28493829
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alderations/pseuds/alderations
Summary: “Would it help to talk about them?” Jonny suggests, pressing his cheek to the top of Brian’s head.“About who?” Brian sniffles.“The people,” Jonny replies, as if it’s obvious. “I assume there were people you cared about, and I assume they all died horrific and utterly preventable deaths? It helps to sing about them. Or just talk. Work it through, y’know?”
Relationships: Drumbot Brian & Jonny d'Ville
Comments: 11
Kudos: 29
Collections: The Mechscord Winter Gift Exchange





	ancient history

**Author's Note:**

  * For [GraphiteLocusts](https://archiveofourown.org/users/GraphiteLocusts/gifts).



The Mechanisms have witnessed plenty of messy love triangles in their time. The thing is, they’re overdone and overrated and frankly quite boring, so they don’t  _ sing  _ about those. And that’s why Brian was so excited to find an echo of the Pendragons where they  _ all  _ loved each other, unashamedly and harmoniously. Too bad it went up in literal flames, like so many other stories.

That’s just it, Brian thinks, after he’s been extracted from the sun and, eventually, reconstructed into something resembling his old self. As soon as he set foot on Fort Galfridian, it was doomed, whether by his prophecies or his mere presence, and he was a fool to ever think he could’ve changed it. To think those stubborn, sun-weathered cowboys would’ve taken a single word from his mouth as truth. To think—

“Stop thinking,” Jonny grumbles from his place leaning over the arm of the pilot’s chair. “I can hear your brain whirring. Cut it out.”

Brian sighs and leans his head on Jonny’s arm. Before his de-sunning, Jonny probably would’ve harrumphed and nudged him off when he was in such a cantankerous mood, but now he reaches up and twirls Brian’s hair, absent-mindedly examining the way the copper wires spool around his fingers. “Sorry,” he mumbles. “Lots to think about.”

“We need to write an album, huh?”

That’s what breaks the dam inside Brian. He doesn’t cry—he’s done plenty of that over the past few days—but he flops his head into his hands and lets himself tremble, lets his emotional programming wreak its havoc instead of overriding it manually like he usually would. To his surprise, Jonny doesn’t try to hold onto his quaking shoulders or shove him away, but instead pulls Brian’s face into his chest and holds him there, shushing softly, until the metallic  _ tick-tick  _ of his heart starts to feel like it’s part of Brian’s own rhythm. “Would it help to talk about them?” Jonny suggests, pressing his cheek to the top of Brian’s head.

“About who?” Brian sniffles.

“The people,” Jonny replies, as if it’s obvious. “I assume there were people you cared about, and I assume they all died horrific and utterly preventable deaths? It helps to sing about them. Or just talk. Work it through, y’know?”

All at once, Brian remembers a conversation they had… some unidentifiable length of time ago, standing over the corpses of General White and King Cole, while Cinders sobbed in Briar Rose’s arms. Where Jonny had insisted that this was a  _ happy ending.  _ And Brian rolls that moment over in his mouth, like a sticky caramel, and compares it to the awful distrust in Arthur’s eyes the last time he spoke to Brian.

“I think I get it now,” he whispers.

Jonny frowns down at him. “Get what? Driving a space station into a sun?”

It takes another minute for Brian to calm himself down enough to say more than a few words. At first, Jonny looks concerned, but Brian waves him off with a shaky hand, until Jonny settles again and waits for Brian to compose himself. “The happy endings,” Brian manages at last. “You said—it was a long time ago, back in New Constantinople. I pointed out all the reasons why Briar Rose and Cinders wouldn’t have a happy ending.”

“All the reasons they  _ would,”  _ Jonny corrects him.

“Yeah. That’s it,” agrees Brian. “I never understood that. I thought about it for years. Thought it was just you being a dick, or that your brain had forgotten what happiness was supposed to be.” Jonny snorts, but doesn’t interrupt him. “And then—then I… when we first got there, I thought we’d just watch everything go to hell and then leave. Like normal.”

He glances around, catching some movement out of the corner of his eye, and realizes that Ivy is listening in, her attention split between Brian and painting Ashes’ nails. If he weren’t so tired, Brian might be miffed that someone’s butting into their conversation, but as it is, he can’t bring himself to care. 

“To be fair, the rest of us did exactly that,” Ashes murmurs, back to him.

“And you all left me hanging there. Which—I’m—I’m not really mad about that,” he qualifies, feeling Jonny puff up at his side. “I wanted the story. I certainly believed that I deserved to be strung up there. I’m a bit frustrated about being left in a star for a millennium, but that’s beside the point.” This time, Jonny barely reacts; Brian likes to think that the crew knows that leaving him there was a dick move. “Regardless. I got to know people. Not just from watching them, even; some of them talked to me a  _ lot,  _ and I didn’t—I knew they were all going to die. I saw it. I loved them anyway.”

The bridge falls silent. It’s rare enough for the Mechanisms to admit how much they love each other, but to say such things about mortals is nearly unheard of. “Why do you think we sing about them?” Jonny mutters, after staring down at him for a moment.

“I know,” Brian confirms. “I know. There was—this preacher, he listened to me and he  _ believed  _ me, and I listened to  _ him  _ and he would come and sit at the gallows and just talk. And it’d been so long since anyone actually wanted to talk to me. Then there was Arthur—he fucked up, they all fucked up, but he tried so  _ hard.  _ He took care of them all for years. It could’ve—things should’ve been okay, y’know? But the ghouls, and Mordred, and Gawain—I could’ve—I should—”

Marius looks up from where he and Tim are studying a map that neither of them knows how to read. “Those were some hard-headed old cowboys,” he says, gentler than usual. “Not sure what you could’ve done differently.”

When Brian tries to shake his head, his hair catches on one of Jonny’s myriad belts, which he imagines would be uncomfortable if he weren’t made of metal. “It would’ve been pretty easy to get down from the gallows if I’d let myself.”

“But letting yourself was impossible,” Jonny reminds him. “You know you can’t blame yourself for your switch.” This is a bold statement coming from Jonny, who usually just complains about Brian ‘ruining the fun,’ but Brian’s not about to point that out.

“This kid,” Brian blazes on, not letting himself get hung up on the details of his punishment. “Mordred. He was Arthur’s son, and everyone thought he was dead, and they  _ also  _ thought he was a girl, so when he came back no one believed who he was. Still managed to win their trust, they put him in charge when they left, but nobody—I told Arthur, your son is alive, he’s here, and he just kept saying that he didn’t have a son, and if I—maybe—I could’ve—”

Ivy frowns. “You’re blaming yourself for not misgendering this kid?”

“I’m not—” Brian cuts off, pressing his lips together. “I know. I’m not sure I could’ve called him Arthur’s  _ daughter  _ on EjM, even. It’s—it’s so—I feel so  _ stupid,  _ but then there… it wasn’t just me, there was a, a fucking scorpion, of all things? It just felt like—none of it ever should’ve gone that way. They were so  _ close  _ to being okay, and now they’re all gone forever, except maybe Arthur.”

By now, the rest of the crew is watching him with rapt curiosity, while Brian’s eyes threaten to spill over with synthetic tears and turn his face blue-green from corrosion again. “He could very well show up again,” Jonny points out. “Plenty of fuckers in this universe won’t stay where you put them.”

Brian sighs and closes his eyes, as if that’ll keep the tears from coming. “What I’m trying to say,” he manages at last, “is that there’s no—no one left to remember, no station left for them to live on. But I knew them, and I loved them, and they  _ mattered.  _ Even if they all made horrible mistakes and died. I think—after, um, after everything—I think that’s the only happy ending we can hope for, right? Especially for… us.”

When he opens his eyes again, Jonny’s eyes shine with something Brian has never seen before. “Textbook tragedy,” he says. “Happiest ending there is.”

“Exactly,” Brian murmurs, leaning his head into Jonny’s chest again. He’d nearly forgotten how soothing it is to feel the unburdened rhythm of a heart that matches the rest of him, even if that heart belongs to Jonny. “Also, did I mention that there wasn’t a love triangle?”

Several heads turn to focus on Brian once again. “Spill,” Nastya demands, a notebook already in hand. “We have an album to write.”

**Author's Note:**

> Happy New Year everyone!!! This was written for the Mechscord winter fic exchange, for [Glycerin!!!](https://adhdo5.tumblr.com/) I had a great time hurting Brian (as usual) and also playing around with the way narrative works in the Mechsverse. This also arose from an idea that [Yale](https://archiveofourown.org/users/yalejosie/pseuds/yalejosie) posited, about Jonny considering OUATiS to have a happy ending and Brian being befuddled by it... but understanding after he's so closely entwined with the tragedy of HNOC. (Yale also beta'd this for me! everyone say thank you Yale!!)


End file.
